WCHB: TwoFaced, the Sequel
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Because I just couldn't help myself. This follows my other Two-Faced story. I'm thinking, 3-5 chapters, tops. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Tony hadn't spoken to her in nearly a month. Not a word. Granted, they hadn't had a real conversation since he'd witnessed her altercation with Ziva, but in the weeks that followed they'd at least interacted professionally on the case.

Barrett had assumed they'd work out whatever was between them when the case was done and they didn't have to worry about Gibbs' ridiculous rules. But the case had been closed for over a month, and he'd barely even looked at her.

So when she spied him getting into an empty elevator late one night, she slipped smoothly in after him. Before he could protest the doors closed, and she flipped the car into an emergency stop. In the dark she turned on him, only to find him deliberately looking anywhere but at her.

"What did I do?" she asked fiercely, fiery anger coloring her tone. He didn't respond, nor did he bother to look her way. "You don't call, you don't email—hell you won't even look at me. I think I have the right to know why you're pissed at me!"

Finally, hazel eyes that had once been oh-so-charming fell on her, with nothing but shadowed contempt in their depths.

"I have nothing to say to you," he delivered, his words dull, and heavy as a ton of bricks. He reached for the emergency switch, but she batted his hand away.

"Actually, I think you do," she countered. "You've been avoiding me, and I want to know why."

"You wanna know why? I gotta _tell_ you?" he asked incredulously. "I can't believe you—I can't believe _me_. I actually thought there was something special about you." His lips split into a grin, but it was anything but mirthful. "Boy, do I feel sheepish!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Barrett fired back. "What did I do?"

"An act of god."

His words settled heavily on her shoulders. His eyes pierced hers, searching for something, anything.

"…apparently," he tacked on somberly. He paused, as did she, regarding each other silently. In the end, she was the one to let him continue, having nothing to offer.

"You didn't get her badge, but you sure as hell did everything but." He shook his head in disbelief. "You sure are a woman who likes to get what she wants… and get rid of what she doesn't."

"Well, what I want right now is for you to stop talking in goddamn circles."

"Ziva!" he shouted, his temper flaring, breaking through his control. But just as quickly as he erupted, he reined himself back in. "You really hated her that much? Why? Because she called you out on your superiority complex?"

Barrett's brows furrowed in confusion. "Ziva? What about her?"

"You honestly want me to believe you had nothing to do with this? Because last I checked, you're the one who'd been working hand-in-hand with the CIA on the P2P case. I bet you had all the right connections—hell, you probably have their Director on speed dial too!"

"What the hell are you talking about? What does the CIA have to do with anything?"

Tony blinked. He looked at her for a long moment, then rocked back on his heels, most of his fight disappearing.

"Ziva was reassigned to the CIA the day of your award ceremony, courtesy of your friend Director Vance. She went to Langley a month ago, and we haven't heard from her for three weeks. Last email she sent told us not to worry if she was out of touch for a while."

Barrett stood there, unable to form any words through the surprise that crashed over her. But after a long moment, Tony scoffed a half-hearted laugh.

"You know what really gets me?" he asked. "I actually believe you had nothing to do with this. If you had, your eyes wouldn't have lit up like they just did." His voice was sad—disappointed even. But whether he was disappointed in her or himself, Barrett couldn't tell.

"What—"

"You didn't even notice she hadn't been in the office for a month… Jesus—you damn near stare at her every day the way you turned your desk around. Some investigator," he muttered.

"Hey!"

"You really are a piece of work, you know that? I can't even remember what it was I saw in you…" He reached for the switch again, but yet again, she blocked him from ending the conversation.

"Will you just wait a minute?" she demanded furiously. "Don't I get to say anything?"

"No." His voice was low, nearly menacing, and when he stepped into her space—just as Ziva had done so many weeks ago—she could not help but step back in response, yielding to his intensity. "No, you don't get to say a goddamn thing. You've had your chance. Hell, you've had dozens of chances, and you blew every damn one of them."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that every time you could have redeemed yourself, you chose to dig yourself deeper. You thought Ziva had information, but instead of acting like an adult, you chased after her and started an altercation that put _her_ on the Director's chopping block. You went up against Gibbs at every turn on this case for the pure sake of butting heads, just to be able to prove you've made your bones. And when we finally close the damn case, you go to bat for you and yours, all the while leaving us in the dust!"

He glared at her fiercely, his hazel eyes burning with anger. "Did you even realize that if it weren't for us, you would've been content to collar a trust fund drug dealer for the murders, leaving the real killer to do god knows how much more damage? Even now, if it weren't for Ziva you'd still be trying to the blood out of the pavement while the victim's family got no more closure than a bullet-ridden corpse?"

"Yeah, I do—"

"Really? You do?" he fired back. "Because watching your little press junket of an awards ceremony, it looked suspiciously like the EJ Barrett show. Every word out of your mouth that day was all about you, you, you. I'm actually surprised you let your team share the stage with you, for all you barely included them in your speech." He took another step forward. "But I sure as hell didn't hear you so much as mention that you'd been collaborating with another team."

He paused, hurt suddenly coloring his gaze. He turned away, moved to put some distance between them. When he turned back around, he regarded her balefully.

"You know," he started huskily, "if you'd even hinted at Ziva's role in the investigation, it might not have been so easy for Vance to moonlight her out to the CIA… to force her back into the life she gave up everything to escape from."

Barrett stared, her mouth working soundlessly for several moments before she managed to say absolutely anything.

"I… I didn't realize…"

He huffed mirthlessly, his eyes cold once more. "Yeah. I know you didn't." His gaze turned cool and collected, once more the professional agent that he was. But he never once dropped her gaze, and the eye contact only made his next words hit home all the harder.

"That's the difference between being a team leader… and not."

He reached around her dumbfounded frame to flip the emergency switch up, and the doors opened unceremoniously. He gave her one last glance as he turned to exit.

"I'll take the stairs," he said drolly, leaving her alone and speechless in an empty elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

Watching Ziva clean her Sig was like watching poetry in motion. Ray could watch her for hours, as her hands moved from part to part with fluid grace. He could tell the way her eyes unfocused ever so slightly that she did it almost without thinking. It was as much a part of her routine as brushing her teeth or tying her shoes.

He'd been surprised at first, at how easily she adapted to the life of a CIA operative. That had been before he'd realized that this kind of life was more second nature to her than that of a federal investigator. She was more accustomed to the lifestyle than he was, as much as it burned him to admit it. While he'd been CIA for over five years, he hadn't been a field agent. He'd been intelligence, until the day he'd been assigned as Ziva's handler.

Now, almost a year later, the novelty had worn off, and he was left wondering how he'd never seen this side of her before her reassignment to Langley. Because she certainly wasn't the same person he'd gone skiing with, or played email tag with, immaturely succumbing to the perils of young love with. That tenacious woman had slowly disappeared, only to give way to the placid figure sharing a dingy motel room with him now.

She must have sensed his gaze on her, for brown eyes lifted from the barrel and brush to look at him. Still beautiful, she was now darkly so, full of danger and seduction. At first, it had been a turn on. Until he'd begun to think more and more of how things used to be—how _she _used to be.

He'd watched day by day as more of that beautiful light in her eyes dimmed, until all that was left was the dispassionate gaze of a hardened field agent.

Field agent. Hah.

It's what his superiors at Langley called her now, and it was what she was on paper. But in reality… she was an assassin, plain and simple. They gave him the name of a subject, he got the details and relayed them to Ziva. Then she'd disappear for days, weeks, before returning just that much more subdued.

He knew it was his fault she'd been pulled into her current predicament. It was he who had foolishly uttered the words "Ziva" and "NCIS" in the same sentence within earshot of Langley. Granted, he hadn't realized he significance of her identity while he'd been dating her— she'd been as reclusive about her past as he'd been about his work.

Now he knew why.

The legendary Ziva David, the best Mossad had to offer until she'd effectively defected to the US. The circumstances of her defection were shrouded in mystery; it seemed no one below SECNAV's paygrade was privy to that information. He'd asked her, twice, why she'd gone to NCIS, left her homeland behind—she hadn't answered.

He'd also tried to apologize for his role in tearing her away from her team, whom he knew she still missed, even after all this time. He'd been met with silence once again, but after that apology she'd allowed herself to relax ever so slightly in his presence, just enough for him to know his sentiment had meant something.

That apology was now the only reason why the silence hanging over motel room was mildly comfortable. The only tension was that of their looming mission, though Ziva remained as steadfast as ever. Even now, her brown eyes were cool and collected. Just like always.

But this time, he was surprised to realize she was mildly appraising him, judging him. He met her eyes for a long moment, but didn't say anything, and before long she turned her attention back to her ministrations. He went back to his files, reading their contents for another time. He didn't know how much time had passed before Ziva's voice broke the silence, deep and melodic, but when he looked over her again he saw that she had moved on to her backup weapon— one of them, anyways.

"My father raised me for this," she said calmly, not breaking her gaze from the firearm in her hands.

Setting his file aside, he turned in his seat to face her, eager to drink in the information she finally seemed ready to share with him.

"To do whatever was necessary," she continued. "It was all I knew… For a very long time, I didn't think there was anything else for me."

"What changed?" Brown eyes lifted, telling him what he already knew. "NCIS."

She nodded. "For the first time in a very long time, I had a real family. People I cared about, who cared about me."

"Is that why you became an American?" he asked.

A shrug lifted her shoulders. "Partly. It wasn't until I realized that I wouldn't find it anywhere else that I made the decision to remain with them."

Ray blinked, letting the words wash over him. "I don't understand…"

Abruptly her movements ceased. Her hands rested in her lap, and her head bowed. "Three years ago, I went back to Mossad. My father ordered me to eliminate a terrorist operating out of Somalia." Her hands began to work once more, giving her something to focus on. "I failed."

Somehow, Ray knew there was more to it. He remained quiet, giving her time to continue. His patience paid off.

"I spent three months in the desert… A prisoner. For three months I wanted nothing more than to die, to let it all come to an end— but my team wouldn't let me. They came for me, saved me." She sighed, and her hands stilled once more.

"It was then I realized I was ready to live, and I couldn't do that at Mossad. That is why I went to NCIS. I thought I would be free from this, if I became an American… an NCIS agent."

She shook her head, her smooth dark hair gently brushing over her shoulders, as though banishing the flight of fancy from her mind. "As you can see, I was foolish."

Ray almost cringed. He'd known that she hadn't had a say in her reassignment, but this—this was worse than he'd imagined. She'd trusted in her Director, had given up her homeland to do something other than what she was doing right now.

And it wasn't like the NCIS Director had needed her for a job in particular—he knew better than anybody that the targets they'd been assigned held no rhyme or reason. They weren't related, professionally or otherwise, and couldn't possibly be a direct threat to NCIS. They were targets the CIA wanted to eliminate, nothing more.

She'd been duped into working for the American government, her desire for family and love exploited to get her on their side.

For all intents and purposes, she was with the CIA for the duration. NCIS had made no overture to get her back, to recall her and return her to her team. She'd been abandoned. Again.

"Did you receive any more intelligence on the subject?" she asked, ending the reminiscence as smoothly as it had begun. It took him a moment to regain his bearings.

"No," he responded, turning back to his files. "Do you need more?"

This mission was different. This time, the details had been given to him, the name of the target obviously a cover. Ziva hadn't heard of the supposed arms dealer, though he had reportedly been in the business for quite some time, long enough to become a threat.

He wasn't asking if she really needed more information—they'd been given more than enough to achieve mission success.

He was asking her if she had misgivings. He sure as hell did. And he wasn't sure which bothered him more; that he had misgivings, or that she didn't.

"No," she returned succinctly. She set aside the brush, gave the bolt one last swipe with a cloth, and in a matter of seconds had the weapon reassembled. She stood, tucked the backup into her ankle holster, then swiped her primary from the table in front of her.

Ray knew by now that she was ready. Weapon cleaning was always her last task before disappearing, and her shoulders were squared against the coming challenge. She looked to him, and he found her eyes were shuttered, void of the vulnerability she'd just shared with him a moment ago.

"Do you still love me?"

Ray nearly started in surprise at the unexpected query. It was out of left field, but the moment it sank in he knew what his answer was. But he hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth that could only hurt her more. But her gaze reassured him that she wanted only honesty from him—the only thing she still expected from him.

He could give her that much.

"No."

He didn't. He couldn't. He'd fallen in love with the woman she'd been a year ago—a woman he hadn't seen in eight months, which was the last time she'd laughed in his presence. This woman, dark and beautiful as she was, couldn't compare to the vivacious woman he'd run into in Miami so long ago.

He watched as Ziva nodded, unsurprised by his response.

"I'm sorry—"

"It's all right," she cut in, her tone holding none of the hurt or resentment he expected. She slipped her weapon into its holster at the base of her spine, beneath her shirt, and reclaimed the last of her seemingly endless supply of knives.

She turned to him, her eyes hollow. "I wouldn't love me either."

Then, silently, she slipped out of the room, leaving him alone to wonder how the hell it had all come down to this.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been years since Eli had paid a visit to his French cottage.

The last time had been before his children had been lost to NCIS. It was small but modern, meant to be for him and him alone, a personal getaway in those rare moments he had to get away from Mossad, Israel... everything. Owned under an assumed name and paid for with funds from one of his accounts in the Caymans, no one knew about this property of his, and that was the way he wanted it.

It was meant to be completely secure—through both anonymity and a state-of-the-art alarm system—which was why he didn't expect to see the shadowy form made visible in the corner when he turned on his desk lamp.

His heart jolted in his chest in a rare moment of alarm, before he realized just who it was looming in the shadows.

"Ziva?"

"Papa." Her greeting came monotone and lackluster, without its usual crisp note of respect.

She was standing against the bookshelf, resting languidly against the shelves with a coiled intensity that was both dangerous and natural. Her elbows rested on the shelf behind her, and a gun hung casually from sure fingers.

But it was her eyes that gave him pause—they were dark, but detached. Dead, as if there were no more spirit left in them.

"I didn't realize you knew about this particular property," he said, carefully steering the conversation in a relatively neutral direction.

She shrugged disinterestedly. "Neither did they," she said, her voice almost lazy. "They thought if I didn't recognize the location, I wouldn't make the connection that this mysterious arms dealer was my own father."

Eli paused. He had no idea what she was talking about—who "they" were, what mysterious arms dealer he was supposed to be…

"Why—?"

"Am I here?" she finished for him. Her trigger finger tapped lightly against the side of her weapon's barrel. "To kill you."

She offered nothing else, and her tone told him she was dead serious. Besides that—he couldn't remember a time she'd ever made a joke in his presence.

"NCIS wants me dead then?" he asked, adrenaline already beginning to surge through his veins. Instincts long rusty started to brush themselves off, rising to this new, unexpected challenge.

The corners of her mouth turned down in a brief gesture of blasé uncertainty. "Probably not."

Eli blinked. Taking a beat, he removed his glasses to look at her directly. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Oh, somebody wants you dead," she assured him. "I'm just not sure how much NCIS is involved. See, I haven't had contact with NCIS in some time—almost a year now. I guess you could say I don't work for them anymore."

Steely apprehension crept into his bones. There was no remorse, no nostalgia. For the first time in her life, she was… cold.

Ever since she was born she'd been full of fire—even after Tali died, she'd burned red-hot, passionate and angry. After Ari, her intensity had waned to a simmer, but he could still it, lingering under the surface as she began to question who she was.

But now— nothing.

"I still have the badge, and my name is on all the right rosters, but… I've been effectively reassigned."

"Then who—?"

"The CIA."

Surprise hit him first, then followed by anger. After that, bitter resentment.

She'd turned her back on him and Mossad, her country, only to turn to the CIA? It rankled him, and he was loathe to admit how deeply it cut—

"It was not my choice," she said finally, cutting through his growing temper. Her words instantly chilled him. "I had no say in the matter. I was given orders, and I followed them to avoid facing criminal charges."

Eli's brows furrowed. "Whose orders?"

She gave him a tight, mirthless smirk. "Your old friend," she delivered. "Vance."

"You are mistaken."

Leon would not send his little girl to the CIA, not after all the effort he had gone to keep her at NCIS. Their friendship had been strained to the point of breaking over the matter, and had only really been refortified when Eli had made that fateful visit to DC.

"I'm not," she declared, her voice hardening. "He gave me full special agent status, in the same breath he sent me to Langley. I haven't had contact with Gibbs or the rest of my team since the day I left."

Eli swallowed thickly. "That explains why you have not responded to any of my emails."

He'd sent maybe a half dozen since he'd last been in DC. When he'd heard nothing in return, he'd accepted that she wanted nothing to do with him, despite their peaceful parting.

She shrugged. "Never got them."

Eli remained silent for a long moment.

He didn't like this. Not at all.

And not just from a professional standpoint. His agent—the operative he had trained and groomed from childhood—was now being utilized by a foreign power. Her work at NCIS he could stomach; there she rarely got involved in international politics, and when she did, Vance's trust of Eli ensured they remained on the same side of the barbed wire.

But under the CIA, he had no such protection—her presence here confirmed that much. Now, those same skills he'd instilled in her, honed to a razor's edge, would be used against him. But strangely enough, that wasn't what bothered him the most.

He had gotten used to disappointing his daughter—years of missed birthdays, dance recitals, and awards ceremonies had taught her not to expect anything of him in return. But this was different. This was more than simple disappointment.

This was betrayal, in the dirtiest sense of the word. Leon had promised her the life she'd decided she wanted—a life that hadn't been chosen for her. And now, it seemed he had turned on her, tossed her into the lion's den. He had denied her that future he promised her.

For the first time in his life, Eli felt the unfamiliar burn of injustice. Not for him, not for the fact that she was here to kill him.

His little girl had been taken advantage of. Persuaded to trust the Americans, and then exploited her for her knowledge and training, no doubt using her team as leverage. It angered him more than the fact his agent was now working for a foreign agency, and it shocked him how deep-seated the emotion was.

"So," he said, his voice low with anger that threatened to erupt from him. "Are you going to kill me, then?"

Her grip tightened on her gun, but she didn't take aim. Yet.

"I suppose I should," she replied coolly. "It's what you trained me for, isn't it? To follow orders…"

Regret settled over him like a shroud.

This was not the first time she'd voiced her disappointment, or her resentment for how her childhood had played out, but it was the first time she'd voiced it with no anger, no passion. And it was the first time he'd seen the true results of his decisions. He'd made her vulnerable, her skills a resource that painted her as a target.

"Ah, Ziva…" he breathed lightly. "You never simply _followed orders_. You surpassed them, blew them out of the water. Every expectation anyone had for you was exceeded, and you left everyone stunned your wake."

Ziva's mask stuttered, uncertainty sparking in her gaze. Now, her eyes raked over him, as though searching for his intentions. She was looking for his game, for his ulterior motives.

But this time, he himself was surprised to find that he didn't have any. He'd often expressed sentiments he truly did feel, but it had always been followed by a request, a chore that needed to be done for the sake of Israel.

Now, he had none to hide behind, and surprisingly, the vulnerability felt foreign, but right.

"I have not been the best father, Ziva, I know that," he continued, looking her in the eye. "In fact, I haven't been any kind of father to you. I treated you like an agent because it was easier, because I needed you to reach the potential I saw inside you."

"If you think playing the doting father will persuade me—"

"I am not playing anything, Ziva," he interrupted. "I have lost my chance to fill that role in your life, I know that. But I have not lost my chance to help you."

And then the mask dropped completely, and Eli was faced with a woman wary and wide-eyed. "Help?"

"Yes, Ziva. I can help you."

"No one can help—"

"Ach," he stopped her with a stern look. "Look at this, with the eyes you once used for me, Zivaleh. You are my daughter, a star of Mossad. This industry knows that whoever has you, has a significant advantage. Leon would not have lost that advantage without adequate reason. Have you thought what that reason might be?"

She blinked, and he could tell that she hadn't. Most likely, she hadn't been given much time to do more than simply react. It was a trick he himself had utilized with those operatives assigned the most horrific of missions—keep them active, and they will not have a chance to second-guess their actions.

"It is entirely likely whatever has forced you to the CIA is a danger to your country—_both_ countries," he told her pointedly. "Whoever is pulling the strings has pitted you against me, hoping to eliminate me. If they were smart, they plan to use my death to discredit you, or to justify your execution."

He looked her in the eye, and discovered that the possibility of her death had already crossed her mind. She wasn't surprised, and she did not appear overly distressed at the prospect.

"Who has reason to want us both dead, Ziva?"

He was reluctant to consider that Leon was one such individual, but in his business, anyone could become an enemy. Friends, colleagues, spouses and family members… no one was above suspicion, and those in positions of power were especially vulnerable to corruption and coercion.

"I can help you find the answers you want, Ziva. I can get to the bottom of all of this, and return you to NCIS… If that is what you want."

"Why would you do that for me?" she asked, her voice soft. The apathy had vanished, replaced by a refreshing hint of bewilderment that bordered on hope. "Are you saying you wouldn't just as much like me to return to Mossad? Work for you again?"

"I would gladly welcome Officer David back to Mossad," Eli replied honestly, "if that is your wish. However, Ziva…" he paused, hesitant. "The last I saw you, you were happy. Those days I observed you in America, at NCIS… I had not seen you smile like that since Tali died."

Her eyes sparkled in the low light, but she said nothing in return.

"Call me a sentimental fool, but… It warmed my heart, to see you so safe and content." He released a breath of air, somehow relieved to have confessed his secret. "And that is why I would return you to your team, and do what I can to ensure that you cannot be manipulated this way again."

For a long moment, nothing was said, but with her mask gone Eli could nearly see the wheels in her head turning, judging him, his intentions, and the viability of his offer. He'd never given her any reason to trust him, but then, he'd never been one for empty sentiment either.

If she accepted his offer, he _would_ help her return to Agent Gibbs and his team. Even if she didn't accept, he would still get to the bottom of whomever it was pulling the strings. The whole situation didn't sit well with him, but he would twist it work it for both their benefits.

"It won't work," she said finally, her voice low. "To help me, you would have to remain alive and breathing. If I fail to complete my mission, they will suspect…"

He'd considered that already. If she failed to kill him, the men behind the scenes would know she'd made the connection as to his true identity. And then they would either arrange to have her taken care of, permanently, or would even go so far as to label her a traitor to her adoptive country.

In the end, he tucked his hands into his pockets, and gave an innocent shrug. "Well," he responded affably, "there has already been some talk in Tel Aviv that it is time to bring some young blood into the upper ranks of Mossad, starting with the director position. And," he grumbled, "I've been feeling my years recently. I think I have earned myself a rather long vacation."

He gave her a pointed look, and received a tight smirk in return. She read the meaning behind his words easily, he was glad to see. And, even better, he thought he saw that familiar spark of excitement flash in her eyes.

"That is," he continued hesitantly, "if you accept my offer."

For a long, interminable moment, she didn't respond, mulling over the concept as she searched for points in which he could possibly turn on her, or how the whole thing might go up in flames. But in the end, it seemed that whatever she considered, it was worth the potential risks.

She delivered a crisp nod.

And just like that, they became allies. Equals, for the first time.

He nodded back, accepting his newfound responsibility graciously.

"All right then," he said, putting his glasses back on his nose. "It's been a good while, but I am of the belief that building a bomb is like riding a bike—one never forgets."

He extended a hand to his daughter, who regarded it with an arched brow that he now recognized as being all too similar to that of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It wasn't smirking or derogatory, but rather… amused, of all things.

It warmed his heart, and gave him the courage to offer one last olive branch.

"Care to join me?"


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Okie dokie... there have been some questions about this fic, and so I feel compelled to answer them. "Justaquestion" has posited that this story is kinda, well... wimpy in the Ziva department. You know, no backbone, zero self-esteem. I would like to assure you, justaquestion, that NO I'm not offended that a) you observed it as such or b) you pointed it out. Because you're absolutely **right**. That's pretty much exactly how she is in this story._

_However, I have mentioned at the start of the first WCHB: Two-Faced story that this fic was going to be out of character (OOC). My reasoning is this: I needed to vent my frustration at this new Barrett character and essentially have someone beat some sense in her. That's all this is. And then I wanted to see Ziva at the CIA. Don't ask me why, my brain works in mysterious ways that even I cannot fathom. So, the plot doesn't really make sense, and the characters are totally just-enough-skewed to make someone go "huh?", but in the end, all I want to see is Barrett getting the crap beat out of her. And since she hasn't yet learned her lesson in canon yet, I'm doing what I can to make sure she gets her comeuppance here._

_So this story isn't really meant to be profound in character development or anything. This is me being playful ;) But, I'm glad you asked. If anyone else has questions, feel free to send them my way._

_*phew* Now that all that's said, I think I need to get this finished soon before the show puts out more episodes and softens her to the point I eventually kinda like her. Cuz then all the fun would be sucked out of it.  
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_Thanks for reading (and all the reviews! I'm totally psyched I have so many sympathizers;), and I hope you enjoy the latest update. I think the next chapter after this will wrap things up nicely... *cackles evilly*_

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><p>Gibbs looked at the crime scene in front of him with a critical eye. It read like a domestic disturbance, but with no bodies and no weapons left behind, his gut told him it was something much more sinister. Their supposed victim was a Navy Admiral with sensitive information, now missing from their assigned safe house along with his wife and two kids.<p>

Of course, the team tasked with protecting them was Barrett's, and that fact was the only reason Gibbs' team had been called in. Otherwise, anyone who happened to look at the case file would wonder why a team incompetent enough to lose a whole family had been allowed to head up the search and recovery without oversight.

It also didn't help that the information the admiral had was scheduled to be used in less than month, on a project so classified that even Gibbs couldn't get a sense of what it was.

A few years ago, it wouldn't have been a problem. A few years ago, he would have worked his way around the rules, around the protocol, and used McGee to hack the computer files on the government mainframe. A few years ago, he would have had Ziva call in a couple contacts of hers, if she thought any of them might have heard something. But not now.

Now, he had once again been assigned to work side by side with Agent Barrett, who had failed to return to Rota following the P2P killer's arrest. Officially, he was again supposed to work _with_ Barrett, but had run into the same wall as he had on the P2P case. Barrett had information she refused to share, and the Director continued to back her every move.

As with every investigation they worked jointly, she inserted herself into every aspect of the case, ensuring that she was present for every interrogation, every interview they conducted. Gibbs couldn't even pretend to try getting McGee to work his magic, for fear of her finding out and crying foul.

He held no misconceptions—she controlled the investigation, and his presence a mere formality.

For the past year and a half, he had instead focused his energy on his off-duty efforts of finding Ziva. He hadn't heard anything from her since just after her reassignment, reassuring them to not worry if they didn't hear from her.

Well, they hadn't heard from her in eighteen months, and they hadn't stopped worrying. He'd called in every debt, pulled every string he could reach. But every turn had led to the same dead end—even SECNAV's office had told him she was deep cover, and could not be reached. The whole team had tried to email her, call her… McGee had even tried to hack into CIA directories to try and get a bead on her. Nothing.

The closest they'd come had been a ZNN report announcing to the world the Mossad Director David had been killed in an explosion at his personal vacation home in France.

Vance hadn't even pretended to force him to take on a new agent, attesting to the fact that the MCRT had lost most of its usefulness. Most cases fell to Barrett's team, leaving Gibbs' team to deal with mostly cold cases and misdemeanors. Gibbs had found himself not caring—only his desire to track Ziva, to fulfill his promise to her and bring her home, had kept him from retiring a final time.

Tony had chafed more under the changes in the pecking order, but over time even he had grown accustomed to their lot. He refused to play the sycophant to get a better assignment, and not just the sake of his pride. He claimed on multiple occasions—most often at Barrett's many proposals to allow him onto her team—that if this was to be the new NCIS, the only thing making the job worthwhile was the team he trusted.

McGee found himself spending more and more time in the Cyber Crime Unit just to keep himself busy, and Abby had taken up the role of the unspoken resistance in her efforts to stonewall Barrett. She worked as slowly as possible, and to her benefit, her reliance on machines gave her an easy scapegoat. She could only work as quickly as Major Mass Spec could, she claimed, and everyone but Team Gibbs believed her.

Ducky retired six months after Ziva fell off the grid, declaring he had become too old to see more of his friends inevitably end up on his table. He now spent his days lecturing at local colleges, and occasionally leasing out his skills as a forensic psychologist. Once a week, he joined the team for drinks at a local bar—which had been forced to be chosen at random, when one such get-together had been crashed by Barrett and her team.

Palmer had reluctantly taken up the mantle of Chief Medical Examiner, and had uncomfortably discovered himself in the awkward position of being torn between the two teams. Even now, his cursory examination of their two dead men—whether they were meant to be the ones guarding the family, or were two perps, Barrett wouldn't reveal— was done silently, at the woman's insistence.

He had long ago discovered that she did not like long-winded tales, and preferred his observations in the format of a concise report once the bodies were on the table.

"There are two cars in the garage, boss," McGee voiced, joining Gibbs in the living room. "Unless they had a third car not on record, they were taken from the house in another vehicle."

"Are there any traffic cameras in the neighborhood?" Gibbs asked.

"Not on the block, but I could check when we get back to NCIS—"

"Cade counted three on the way in," Barrett said, breezing into the room. "He's already working on hacking into the feeds. Levin is already starting on talking to the neighbors."

Gibbs turned to her, a schooled expression of false respect on his face. "Looks like you don't even need us here, Agent Barrett."

"Oh, but then who would I get to start printing the place, Agent Gibbs?" she replied with all the slick superiority they'd come to expect from her. "Agent McGee, if you're not busy, why don't you get started on that?"

McGee shot a look to Gibbs, but quickly agreed. "Yeah, sure…"

"Agent Gibbs, I hope you brought a camera, because we need shots of every room in the ground floor and both the front and back yards."

Gibbs offered a mock salute with the camera clearly hanging from around his neck. "Heck, I'll even throw in a few shots of the upstairs for free," he drawled.

Apparently, she hadn't gotten the class that prompted any investigator worth their salt to get photographs of every room in the house when B&E was on the docket. But he didn't grumble; he might be able to get a look around the bedrooms without her hovering over his shoulder.

She smirked in answer to his barely veiled disrespect, before turning her attention on Tony. "Agent DiNozzo, I could use your help talking to the Admiral's aide at the Pentagon."

Her tone implied that she had more on her mind than interviewing the Admiral's personal aide, and Gibbs could see a tiny grin tickling the edges of McGee's mouth. The woman's preoccupation with DiNozzo was often a topic of easy discussion between Gibbs' two agents, having become something of a running joke between them.

DiNozzo looked to Gibbs, searching for some sign of reassurance, which he got in the form of a tight nod. They'd already discussed the usefulness of having someone on somewhat good terms with Barrett, and while DiNozzo had shown his contempt for her multiple times, she still liked to pretend he hadn't.

"Fine," his senior field agent delivered finally, folding his notepad shut with an audible snap. "Can't think of anything I'd like to do more…"

Barrett smiled, and led the way out of the house. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Except gargle rusty nails, maybe," he grumbled under his breath, before following the woman out.

McGee grinned despite himself, and even Gibbs let loose with a small chuckle. But a moment later they were somber once more, reminded yet again that they were short a team member in the face of such a daunting workload.

Gibbs sighed. "Let's get started."

* * *

><p>Two days later, they hadn't made any headway.<p>

The prints they'd found all belonged to the family, and the traffic cams had picked up a white paneled van for only about 300 meters from the front door before losing it when it turned onto the highway. Gibbs' search of the upstairs hadn't yielded anything pertinent as to where the family may have gone.

The Admiral's cell phone, wallet and keys had been left behind on his bed stand—same with the wife's. They couldn't tell if any clothes were missing, which would imply they had left of their own accord, or with a considerate captor at least, but Gibbs had noticed that one of the youngest daughter's toys was missing. It was a pale pink bunny rabbit wit long floppy ears, and was featured in more than one family photo adorning the mantle.

What the missing rabbit meant, Gibbs wasn't sure. It could mean that the little girl was so terrified that she had refused to part with it, or it could mean that the admiral hadn't even considered having her leave it behind in his haste to get his family out of town.

They had no leads, no witnesses, nothing. And without the Admiral, the top secret, doesn't officially exist project was a no-go.

Gibbs gazed at the plasma, staring at the crime scene photos.

"Uhm, Boss?" McGee spoke up, rising from his seat, eyes glued to the computer screen. "You should take a look at this…"

Gibbs strode quickly to the younger agent's desk. Bending over, he saw what had caught the man's attention.

Big, bolded letters flashed on the screen, demanding attention.

**876 West Point Docks, Lot C.**

Above the address, a picture was just finished loading. The exterior of a battered warehouse could be seen, but what was more eye catching were the individuals walking towards it. A tall man with graying hair and a petit brunette wearing pearl earrings were hurrying to the warehouse, each cradling a sleeping girl in their arms. One little girl held a floppy-eared pink rabbit against her chest.

It was the Rear Admiral and his family.

They appeared to be unharmed and unmolested—there was no indication that any external force was being exerted at all. There were no masked men forcing them into the warehouse, though Gibbs noticed that the Admiral's expression was decidedly concerned.

"Write it down," he instructed McGee quietly. The younger man slid him a scrap of paper, address already scribbled on its surface. Gibbs bit back a grin. "Text DiNozzo. Tell him to meet us in the garage—"

His orders were interrupted by the sudden flickering of the computer screen. Sensing McGee's instant concern, he stepped back, and Tim swooped in to start tapping frenetically at the keyboard. However, the flickering only worsened, and then the pixels began to bleed away.

"No, no, no no no…" McGee muttered bitterly under his breath. Then, the screen flashed white, right before it went completely dead. "No!"

Gibbs looked up, and around the room, other agents were suddenly tapping at their keyboards as well, only for their features to go slack with shock when their work disappeared in a flash of white. Just as the others were beginning to groan, all the overhead lights in the bullpen went dark, as did every plasma TV and scrolling digital marquee.

McGee froze, and Gibbs looked to him nonplussed. "They hacked our power?" he asked in a low voice.

Tim's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he got his wits about him. "I… guess so, Boss."

Gibbs paused for a moment before coming to the executive decision. "Move out," he told the younger man. "DiNozzo here yet?"

"Just pulled in."

"Tell him to sign us out a car, without Barrett catching wind of it."

A few seconds, and then, "Done, Boss."

Gibbs nodded. "Stairs. Now."

* * *

><p>The ride was short and silent, the looming tension of the unknown situation settling over them like a heavy wool blanket. Gibbs knew in his gut that this was bigger than the Admiral—he didn't know how he knew, nothing at the crime scene or the consequent investigation had yielded any definitive information.<p>

But he'd bet his bottom dollar that what waited for them at the warehouse wouldn't be what any of them expected.

"So, McGee got an email tipping us off to a mysterious warehouse at the docks," DiNozzo recapped, "and then that same email hacked every computer in the bullpen—possibly the entire building—and then shut the power off… and now we're heading to the same address that the hackers sent us?"

He looked at Gibbs. "Anyone else think this a kind of a bad idea?"

"We need to talk to the Admiral," Gibbs said simply.

"So we go after some terrorists hackers without backup?" Gibbs said nothing. "They hacked the entire building, Boss…"

"It was a distraction," he said finally.

"How do you figure?"

"What better way to slip out than when the entire building goes out? This way, we get some answers without Barrett getting in the way."

McGee leaned forward from the backseat. "You think whoever sent the email knew that Barrett was a problem?"

Gibbs shrugged. "At this point, we can't assume anything." He turned the car into the docks, and then again into the lot marked C. There stood the warehouse from the email photo, quiet and lifeless. Across the parking lot he spied a white paneled van, but it was parked far enough from the warehouse that he didn't consider it pertinent to search it.

With a nod to McGee and DiNozzo, he motioned to the warehouse as he drew his sidearm. The younger men immediately moved to circle around the back, leaving Gibbs to approach the front alone. He climbed up rickety-looking stairs on silent feet, and was not surprised to find the rusty silver door knob unlocked.

He swung the door open just enough to peek inside, and then just enough to slip past the threshold. The interior was dusty and dark, but his eyes soon adjusted to reveal half-rotted shipping crates and rusted iron support beams holding the place up. Off to one side, he found two little girls playing hopscotch in one of the pale shafts of light that leaked in from a missing roof tile.

Their parents sat on a couple of boxes nearby, watching the children as they spoke to each other in nervous whispers. Every so often, the Admiral's gaze darted across the room, and Gibbs followed his line of sight until he detected the indistinct shape of another body perched on another shipping crate.

As his eyes further adjusted, Gibbs could discern a slender leg drawn up onto the box, a chin resting on the cocked knee. A gun rested on the leg that dangled, but the hand on its grip was relaxed. It was then he noticed the long, dark hair, and the darker eyes that looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to come closer.

The recognition of the shadow-shrouded form hit him like kick to the gut, leaving her name nearly breathless on his lips.

"Ziva?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Ziva?"

Gibbs' gaze searched the corners of the warehouse, looking for the other villains to come popping out of the woodwork. But none availed themselves, and he was left facing the realization that the woman he hadn't heard from in almost two years had been the one who'd caused the death of the two men back at the safe house.

"Gibbs," she returned easily, uncurling from her position on the shipping crate. She stood, as did the Admiral and his wife. Their daughters scampered over to them, their eyes wide and fearful at the arrival of this new stranger.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, his voice dark with anger. "Did you send that email?"

Her mouth opened to reply, but before she could the back door slammed open, admitting DiNozzo and McGee into the warehouse. They froze at the scene before them, and their weapons wavered for barely a moment before they lowered, a mixture of confusion and happiness painted across their features at the sight of their long lost friend.

"Ziva!" McGee exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "What're you doing here?"

"Yeah," DiNozzo chimed in. "You didn't happen to run into any terrorist hackers in here, did you? Because that would totally save us a pile of paperwork…" Her brow arched skeptically, and he hesitated. "Oh, no," he groaned, realization dawning. "You're the terrorist hacker, aren't you?"

She didn't answer, her expression somber as her eyes turned back to Gibbs, as he had been the first to voice his questions.

"I sent the email," she stated unabashedly. "I needed you to come—"

"So you hacked the Naval Yard?" he countered harshly.

She didn't even bat an eye. "Just NCIS. And it's only temporary. Don't worry, they won't be able to trace the hack from your computer, so—"

"You sent the program?" McGee asked. "Did you write it yourself, or…?"

"The CIA gives me access to some of the best hackers in the world, McGee."

"And did you kill the agents protecting the Admiral?" Gibbs fired off, his words harsh and unforgiving.

Her eyes narrowed, anger coloring her features.

"If those were agents, then NCIS has significantly lowered its standards since my time there," she shot back. "And they weren't protecting the Admiral."

"She's right," a new voice spoke up, drawing the group's attention to the Admiral himself.

Gibbs took a few steps towards him, holstering his weapon. "You care to explain to me what you mean by that, Admiral?"

The Admiral ushered his daughters towards their mother, and crossed the warehouse to join the agents. "I mean that those men weren't protecting us. At first, we thought they were, but after a while, we started that we started to notice things."

"What kind of things?"

"They started picking the girls up from school without us, things got rearranged in our house, like the place had been searched or something. And then they started harassing my wife when I was working. Threatened to let something happen to the girls if she told me." The Admiral shot a look towards his wife, who remained resolutely silent.

In the end, he sighed. "Finally they started telling me to slow things down on the project. They wanted me to sabotage the whole thing—I barely managed to convince them that to outright damage the efforts we were making would call too much attention to them. So they wanted me to stall…"

"Why didn't you tell Agent Barrett?"

The Admiral shoved his hands in his pockets, his features hardening. "I did. You want to know what she did about it?"

Gibbs nodded.

"She asked me if I was sure I wasn't _misinterpreting_ them. Warned me that making waves wasn't in my family's _best interest_."

Ziva stepped towards Gibbs, her eyes serious. She was thinner, he noticed. Probably working too hard and not eating enough. She'd often been the first to forget about meals on long cases—he could only imagine how long she'd been letting herself waste away without a team to back her up.

But he dismissed his concerns in favor of focusing on more pressing problems. Namely, the apparent threat that Agent Barrett posed.

He turned back to Ziva, and met her eyes squarely. "She's dirty?"

"Look, we don't have much time," she told him. "I can't explain everything right now, but…" She paused, taking a breath, as though nervous. But she wasn't. He could tell. "You told me, on the Port to Port case, that you didn't trust Barrett."

Gibbs shifted his weight, his interest piqued. "Yeah?"

She looked him in the eye, and for a split second, the old Ziva was staring back at him, sharp and intense. "You were right not to."

Before Gibbs has a chance to dig deeper, the door behind them slammed open with a deafening crash, catching all but Ziva and Gibbs off guard.

"Freeze! NCIS!"

"DON'T MOVE!"

The shouts came swift and harsh, as Barrett, Cade, and Levin stormed the warehouse, blazers flashing and guns at the ready.

McGee and DiNozzo lifted their hands instinctively at the sudden assault, but Ziva held Gibbs' gaze undauntedly, cool as could be. He didn't turn away from her, instead watching her, sizing her up. When the intimidating shouts began to die, as Barrett's team recognized them, Gibbs nodded once to Ziva.

He trusted her.

"Agent Gibbs, what the hell are you doing here?" Barrett demanded, lowering her gun only slightly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Gibbs returned, finally breaking eye contact to face the woman.

"Anonymous tip," came the tart reply. "Someone witnessed my missing Admiral coming in here."

Gibbs looked to Ziva—this was her show. She accepted the floor with a heavy nod, and moved past him reveal her presence to the other team.

"Agent David," Barrett voiced, unable to hide her surprise, though it quickly reverted to her usual smug countenance. "Well, I can't say I expected to see you here. You wouldn't happen to be involved in my case, would you?"

Ziva met her gaze squarely, but before she addressed Barrett, she looked to the two agents behind her. "Agent Cade… Levin," she greeted cordially, nodding to each of them.

"Agent David," Levin responded in kind. "It's good to see you again. NCIS hasn't been the same without you. And, we heard about your father—I'm sorry."

Ziva smiled thinly, but didn't acknowledge his condolences any more than that. "Tell me," she said, changing the subject deftly, "does your boss get anonymous tips often?"

Cade and Levin exchanged sharp look; part of it was surprise, but even Gibbs could see the confusion that betrayed the answer for what it was.

"It's all right," Ziva continued, her voice gentle, but schooled. "I know the answer… and I can also give you the reason why these tips are so prevalent." She looked them both in the eye. "They're not tips."

"What do you mean?" Cade voiced gruffly.

"Nothing, Cade," Barrett countered. "She's just trying to mess with your heads. This is our crime scene but she's helping her old team try to get a leg up on us."

"I'm willing to bet that most of those anonymous tips lead you to scenes that Gibbs' team is already working," Ziva continued. Then she nodded towards Barrett. "But then she calls the Director and Gibbs is ordered to hand the case over… It's because those tips are really your boss following the tracer she planted on Tony."

Cade and Levin looked instantly confused, even as Tony looked up, alarmed. "There's an app for that?"

Ziva ignored her former partner, instead watching the two agents lingering behind their boss. In theend, it was Cade who finally came alongside the light-haired agent, his gaze carefully unassuming—not accusing, but not trusting either.

"Is that true?" There was no pretense, no suspicion—yet. But he wanted the truth and his tone gave no quarter.

Barrett didn't even miss a beat. Her face crinkled into a scoff of disbelief. "Please, don't tell me you're actually taking her seriously…"

"Show him your phone," Ziva interrupted.

Barrett's glare turned on her, but she didn't even blink. Before the team leader could splutter out a protest she continued with a shrug. "If I'm wrong, you should have nothing to hide."

"She's right, EJ," Levin spoke up, approaching his team leader with an expectant hand urging her to hand the phone over. "You've got nothing to hide."

But even as he said it, the slightest hint of suspicion was crept into his voice.

There was a long moment where Barrett hesitated, hoping one of them would back down if she lingered long enough. When no one did, she ripped the phone from her hip with an angry groan of frustration and slammed it into her agent's hand.

"You won't find anything," she growled, a sentiment largely ignored by the two men as they bent their heads over the phone.

Ziva waited as they scrolled through the pages of applications, and when she saw Cade point at the screen, she knew they had seen the GPS app and made the connection.

"The GPS does lead here," Levin announced. He looked up at Ziva. "But she could have just searched for directions."

Ziva nodded. "Zoom out until you can see the Navy Yard."

A beat passed as they complied. Levin's head lowered again to peer at the small screen, and a moment later they both froze where they stood. Sensing their heavy alarm, Barrett jumped on the defensive. "It's set as my home location," she declared. "It's easier to use it as a reference point when getting directions—"

"If that's the case, EJ," Levin interrupted, "would you care to explain why your home location is in _transit_?"

Two sets of angry eyes rose to regard Barrett in stunned silence. She returned their gazes, her mouth working once, twice, but no sound came. Finally, Levin chucked the phone across the distance to Gibbs, who caught it deftly.

He looked at the screen, and sure enough, a blue blinking dot was slowly making its way from the Navy Yard—headed for the Beltway, if he wasn't mistaken.

Biting back a grin, he looked to Ziva. "The Director?"

"That would be my guess," she responded smoothly. "What better way to enforce blackmail than to know precisely where he is at all times?"

Gibbs felt what little mirth had grown within him drain away, leaving him almost chilled. He took a step towards his agent, his expression somber.

"Blackmailing the director of a federal agency—that's a very serious allegation, Ziva."

It was treason, if it were true. A death sentence for Barrett.

But Ziva didn't seem to care. Her expression didn't reveal anything, making her next words all the more disturbing.

"I have corroborating and irrefutable proof that Agent Barrett has engaged in crimes against the United States of America and her allies."

Silence rang out over the warehouse, her words nearly echoing in the stunned quiet. Half a dozen pairs of eyes locked on her, shocked and bordering on disbelief. Even Gibbs felt like he'd been knocked on his ass by the delivery, and he found himself scrambling to collect himself.

However, it was Tony who first broke the silence.

"_Holy shit_."

Silently, Gibbs acknowledged the younger man had put it nicely. Holy shit. Never in his life had he heard anyone voice an allegation so severe with so much conviction. Instinctively, his hand went to the gun on his hip, his eyes shifting from Ziva to Barrett, who had just become the more immediate threat.

"You better start at the beginning, Agent David."

"Yes, please," McGee concurred.

Ziva lifted a small rectangle of plastic for them all to see. "On this USB drive, I have over a dozen photographs found on Agent Barrett's personal hard drive—of Mrs. Vance and her two children. Some are clearly in violation of privacy laws, some are more discreet— but all of them are designed to threaten and intimidate Director Vance." She tossed the drive to McGee. "You can keep that—I have my own copies."

"Were all those sent anonymously too, Barrett?" Gibbs asked drily.

"They could've come from anywhere—"

"And here," Ziva continued relentlessly, drawing a small manila envelope from her back pocket, "are both photos and correspondence between you, Agent Barrett, and various individuals suspected of being involved with a homegrown Abu Sayyef cell."

"Only suspected?" Gibbs queried, opening the folder.

"At the time the photos were recovered," Ziva affirmed. "They have all since been confirmed."

Levin and Cade moved forward to confirm Ziva's claims for themselves. One glance at the photos, and Levin was looking to Cade, who nodded confirmation. One had even been on the Most Wanted List, and Cade's eidetic memory backed up Ziva's declaration.

"Son of a bitch," Levin growled, rounding on his supervisor. "You played us—"

"She doctored a few photos, guys. So what?"

"Ummm… Ziva?" Tony spoke up, fingering the last photo in the file. "This guy isn't Abu Sayyef."

Ziva smirked. "No. That one happens to be my contact. He was very cooperative when I explained what I needed. He gave me information regarding that meeting pictured there, as well as others, and is even willing to testify to Barrett's subversive efforts."

Barrett scoffed. "Let me guess, a crackhead off the street that you convinced to turn confidential informant…"

"Actually it's not," McGee countered, his voice sure and smooth. He was enjoying himself. "We know this man from prior acquaintance."

"Yeah," DiNozzo added. "Total pain in the ass, but credible." He paused. "Well, as credible as the CIA can be, anyway."

At the mention of the CIA, Barrett paled ever so slightly. Gibbs saw the change in her countenance, and knew then that Ziva was telling them the truth. He leaned towards his agent. "You sure he's willing to testify?"

Ziva paused, but then smirked as she caught sight of something over his shoulder. "Positive."

Gibbs turned to investigate whatever had captured her attention, but rolled his eyes the instant he realized who their newest arrival was.

"_Trent Kort_…" he drawled. "Imagine that."

The bare-pated agent smirked, but nodded in a fairly amicable greeting. "Gibbs," he said, his accent lilting. "Long time."

"Not long enough," Gibbs returned.

"Play nice," Ziva urged, her voice low but gentle. "You'd be surprised how much he'd helped me the past few months."

"You know he's got an agenda," he warned.

"absolutely," she replied easily. "But so do I, and right now those agendas have a common goal."

Levin approached Kort as Ziva and Gibbs conversed quietly, his eyes hard with distrust. "You know Agent Barrett?"

Kort smirked, revealing his answer without having to say a word, but spoke anyways. "Intimately," came the smug reply. "But not as Agent Barrett. To me, she's always been Christie."

"Christie?" DiNozzo parroted, clearly not buying that as a likely nom de plume.

"In reference to the mystery writer," Kort elaborated. He looked to the woman in question, who regarded him warily as his voice dropped to a purr. "After all, she's always been a fan of manipulation and intrigue."

"She became Agent Barrett when she joined NCIS," Ziva continued on. "Her objective was to work her way to the top, by any means necessary. She figured NCIS would be easier to infiltrate and control than the FBI or CIA."

"And she was ultimately correct," Kort confirmed.

DiNozzo growled a barely intelligible threat, but Gibbs merely shrugged.

His senior agent paused, surprised at the less than enthusiastic response. "Boss?"

"He's right, DiNozzo," he said, his voice resigned. "All she had to do was intimidate a few people, threaten a man's family, and tag a few agents with tracers. She had the whole agency eating out of her hand."

"The FBI has a redundancy of directors, assistant directors, and regional directors. In the CIA, she'd have been eaten alive. NCIS _is_ the easiest to manipulate," Ziva went on. "And SECNAV's order to keep the agency in order made it easy for Vance to act out of character without anyone looking twice."

"I am liking this less and less," Cade said, turning his focus back to Barrett. "Do you deny any of this?"

She scoffed, not having lost an ounce of her self-assuredness. "What's the point? You all seem to have all this wrapped up nicely. You get Kort back on top of the weapons trade, and I'm painted as the villain." She glared at Gibbs. "And your team gets back on top."

Gibbs arched a brow. "No one said anything about weapons trade."

"I was just getting to that," Ziva slipped in. Whether she saw Barrett blink at the smooth acknowledgement of her self-incrimination, Gibbs couldn't tell. "It also happens to be our motive."

Levin turned to her. "You're telling us she's an arms dealer in her off hours?"

This time, it was Kort who answered the question. "Her boyfriend is."

All gazes turned to him, which he accepted with the smooth grace of a man well versed in playing a crowd.

"Rafi Anwari is an obnoxious little tick with ties to Abu Sayyif, Al Qaeda, and a number of Chechnyan terrorist groups. Usually, we wouldn't have paid him much mind, but he's been making a few ballsy moves to take out other major arms dealers. That is, if they don't agree to his terms of a job offer."

"And let me guess," Gibbs said, eyeing him with practiced familiarity. "You played along to get into his network."

Kort smirked once more. "I interacted with him through Christie here," he said, nodding towards the diminutive woman, who stood impatiently with her arms crossed over her chest. "Especially once she came stateside."

"This is ridiculous—"

"Shut up!" Levin barked, the sharp sound echoing in through the warehouse. "Just—shut the hell up."

"You can't believe them—"

"Why not?" Cade asked, his rumble adding to the growing dim with surprising clarity. "We've watched you slide on protocol, shut out other agents without any reason besides your desire to climb the ladder. In Rota, we thought it was gutsy. For the past year, it's been unsportsmanlike. It's not really surprising it's actually criminal, too."

"We should've noticed it," Levin told Gibbs, his eyes wide with honest apology. "That's on us. I'm sorry."

"I didn't see it either," Gibbs returned. And he should have. He should have dug deeper, especially when Ziva was sent to the CIA. But he hadn't considered that Barrett was responsible for the personnel shift.

"You didn't see it because there's nothing to see—"

"We also have photos of Barrett relating… _intimately_ with Anwari," Ziva said, regarding the protesting woman with a cool gaze. "And an electronic paper trail between them, dating as far back as when they went to university together in Europe. _Those_ are currently at a secure location."

"Okay," DiNozzo said, his furrowing in confusion. He ran a hand over his jaw, visibly trying to work through the information on his own. "I buy it… I do, but there's something I don't get."

"Now there's a shock," Kort chuffed mildly, earning a glare from Tony.

Ziva gave the man a look of her own, silently warning him. Turning to Tony, she motioned him to continue.

"How does the Admiral figure into all this?" he asked.

Again, Kort took the floor to answer. "The Admiral is working on an international anti-terrorism taskforce called Project Jericho. The goal was to pool global intelligence resources to track and eliminate terrorist cells worldwide. However, in recent weeks, the project has ground to a halt as far as the US is concerned…"

"And without the United States' involvement, the other nations are ready to withdraw," Ziva finished. "The threat to his family did what it was meant to. The project is essentially dead in the water, and leaves Anwari free to continue as he is."

Levin blinked, swallowing the information. "How far does this conspiracy go? Is it just here, or does Anwari have influence in other governments as well?"

"He definitely has fingers in the CIA and NSA. Kort has tracked those, and we have people in place to apprehend them as we speak. The global extent is unknown, but it doesn't matter."

She turned her gaze on Barrett once more, fully looking at her for the first time since the second team had stormed the warehouse. This time, the cool regard was masking something deeper, something much darker. Her eyes were razor sharp, direct and heavy as she crossed the cement floor.

Gibbs felt his instincts go on full alert. There was something in her stride he'd never seen before, something so completely overwhelming in her gaze that he was at a loss to reconcile with the young woman he had once trained. It was predatory, but cold.

Not the thrill of the hunt—he understood that gleam. This…This was something else entirely.

Barrett, for her part, was trying to hide her discomfort at Ziva's intense stare. She fidgeted where she stood, her hand resting on her gun. Ziva's weapon remained casually gripped in her palm.

Ziva drew to a stop just shy of arm's length from the pale agent.

"Agent David," Barrett said nervously, almost taking a step back to reinstate her personal space. "I think you're under a lot of stress. Being sent to the CIA, that's gotta be tough on anyone, even someone like you. And the loss of your father—"

"My father is currently overseeing the apprehension of Rafi Anwari and his affiliates in the Middle East," Ziva replied easily, her words slicing through Barrett's overtures like butter.

Barrett's mouth closed, her eyes wide with realization.

"The cards are on the table, Agent Barrett," she purred. Gibbs remained on edge, watching with a wary eye. "Are you going continue the game… or do you fold?"

For a long, tense moment, the others watched for the woman's answer. Her eyes remained wide, but her gaze met Ziva's squarely. Then, on the turn of a dime, the frozen mask of astonishment and fear melted from her features, leaving nothing but that same smug expression that had been near constant for the past eighteen months.

Her arms fell to her side, and her eyes narrowed as her lips parted to speak. "Bravo, Agent David," she congratulated, her words drawn out in exaggeration. "You got me. Impressive." She offered her wrists out, in a classic gesture of a supplicant prisoner. "Cuff me, Danno."

Ziva's head tilted, her gaze not once shifting from the woman's eyes. Barrett didn't seem fazed, but Gibbs edged forward, sensing… _something_. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it wasn't good.

"But then," Barrett continued, oblivious, "you'll have to incarcerate me. And you know, people escape from jail more often than anyone likes to admit. Even more are released… pardoned."

"You're not going to get out of this one, EJ," Cade said, his deep voice dark. "Gitmo… until you get the needle."

She looked at her agent with something akin to pitiful condescension. "That's only if there's a conviction, Cade. And even if your so-called evidence holds up in court, I'll be able to strike a deal… After all, I know names, locations, plans—there's no way I'll get anything more than—"

Gibbs saw Ziva's gun come up as if in slow motion, leveling with Barrett's head with deadly precision.

"Ziva, NO!"

But the shot deadened his words, and the back of Barrett's head exploded outwards in a fountain of blood and brain matter. The force of the bullet took her slightly off her feet, and they all watched her fall in stunned silence. She landed with a sickening crunch, and Ziva's gun was left level and steady, a thin stream of smoke rising from the barrel.

None of them were able to move, to do anything more than breathe, and watch as her gun lowered slowly, her elbow remaining stiff and locked. Then, she turned and regarded them all with features slack and emotionless. Dark eyes stared at them, and Gibbs could almost hear his agents stop breathing when they saw the spray of blood across her face.

Gibbs looked at the corpse at her feet only once before he focused his attention on Ziva. He moved slowly to her side, careful of the weapon still in her hand. She didn't look like she was ready to snap, or at all on edge. He wasn't sure if that reassured him, or worried him more. She was completely in control, and that meant she had been intending to put a bullet in Barrett's head all along—and _that _unsettled him more than anything else.

At the other end of the warehouse, the Admiral stood with his youngest in his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder so she wouldn't see. His wife stood shell-shocked, but behind the stunned expression lurked a darker expression that told Gibbs she was glad to see the woman behind her family's distress dead.

After a moment, he shot a look to his agents, and with a nod of his head motioned for them to take the Admiral and his family out of the warehouse. With a last look towards the body of what had once been a federal agent, they obeyed, and the Admiral helped lead his family out of the suddenly empty structure.

Once the door closed after them, he turned back to Ziva. "Hey…"

She looked up at him, and the emptiness switched to business. "Ray will be here soon with the rest of the documentation. Kort will return to NCIS with you and help with the paperwork."

"And you?"

"I have some calls to make," she returned smoothly. "I need to know my father's end of the operation went through. He may already have Anwari in custody—" She looked up at him. "NCIS will be credited as the ones who provided the Intel," she assured him. "He's decided to remain mostly dead, so his involvement will not be acknowledged officially."

She moved to leave, but Gibbs grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back. He leaned in close, until his lips nearly brushed her ears. "You knew it was going to play out like that," he declared, the accusation a growl in his voice.

She met his gaze, undaunted by his proximity. "Yes."

"Then why call us here? Why the audience? You could have taken Barrett out on your own, hell, you could've picked her off from 500 yards out. So why all of this?"

"Because you needed to be the one to bring the evidence to the Director, to SECNAV," she stated, her words clipped and succinct. But when he could only stare at her in response, his confusion still plastered over his face, her features softened, as did her voice.

"It had to be you Gibbs," she said. "It had to be _you_."

For a long moment, he looked at her, but in the end, he nodded. He jerked his head towards the body still lying sprawled behind them. "You gonna…?"

She nodded. "We'll take care of it." She offered a mirthless smile. "One of the perks of being CIA."

"Hey—" He looked her straight in the eye. He saw the blood on her face- which she had yet to wipe from her skin- and saw the emptiness in her eyes. But it was still her, in spite of everything. "You are still _my_ agent."

Her eyes softened, and her hand lifted to cup his elbow. The touch was both appreciative and comforting, and even in the chill of an abandoned warehouse, her reply warmed him.

"Always."

* * *

><p><em>AN: All right, finally! Sorry about the delay, but I had another version of this story finished a few days ago, but when I realized how much support this story has earned, it seemed too caricature to post. So I went back and pretty much re-wrote it all, just so I could do the story justice. _

_And yeah, I may write an epilogue. Depends on how much love I get! nyuh :P Heheh... just kidding. I'll probably end up posting one anyway. I'm just that awesome._


	6. Chapter 6

"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome. This day is a momentous occasion, and it is an honor to have an audience as distinguished as we have here. As has been released to the media recently, the Navy Criminal Investigative Service has averted a major threat to national security by unearthing and apprehending a conspiracy to aid and abet an international arms dealing ring."

Secretary of the Navy Phillip Davenport looked over the podium at the gathered crowd, squinting in the light of a dozen cameras flashing back at him.

It was a warm sunny day, and the who's who of the Beltway was in attendance of the ceremony. By now, the story of the conspiracy Gibbs and his team had cracked open had made its way through the major news networks, and surprisingly, among the shouts of indignation, there had also been a considerable cry for recognition of the individuals who had thwarted the attack on the country.

So word had come down from the President himself. NCIS needed a makeover after news of Barrett's involvement had leaked, and giving medals to the Major Case Response Team had been the most obvious and easiest to publicize. And for once, Gibbs had gone to bat for the agents working for him, demanding they receive the recognition they deserved.

"Now, without further ado," he continued, "allow me to introduce to you the new, Interim Director of NCIS—Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

A smattering of applause issued from the crowd, as the Secretary stood aside as the man of the hour approached. A stiff handshake and a subtle eye roll from Gibbs, and then the taller man was reluctantly taking the stand.

"Normally, I don't like to stand on ceremony," Gibbs delivered.

His words caught many of the audience members' attention—in this town, almost everyone loved pomp and circumstance. An exception to the general rule sparked intrigue. His somewhat irreverent tone only compounded the interest.

"But," the Interim Director continued, "if there was any reason for this nation to celebrate, then it would be for the reason we are here today. Today, we recognize the men and women I have had the pleasure of working with. If not for these people, the world would have become a very different place—a world where the United States would not be the country it is now. They are exceptional individuals, both as agents and Americans."

He took a moment to breathe, and the only motion in the audience was the flash of a camera.

"For the past decade, they have been unwavering in their loyalty to this country, and to each other. As their supervisor, I taught them all I knew… but it was they who used what I gave them to become the people they are."

If Gibbs knew the agents in question were standing silent and shocked just out of sight, he didn't show it. But the Secretary did. He'd observed the infamous MCRT unit for years now, and he'd never heard Gibbs deliver such high praise, and from the looks of it, his agents hadn't either. But there was no doubt that the man meant every word of it—his conviction was tangible, and in the audience more than a few people stood a little straighter from the sheer charisma dripping from Gibbs' lanky frame.

"Each of these exceptional agents being honored here today bring something unique to the job—at times, it was a touch of levity on a bad day. Sometimes, it was a hug when needed most. And always, there was a shoulder to lean on whenever the going gets tough.

"But they all share the qualities that set this agency apart from the rest of the world…those that separate the elite from ordinary: Honor… Courage… Commitment. These agents have it all in spades, and are undeniably the greatest assets this country has to offer its citizens, and the world."

Gibbs paused, and he looked the audience in the eye.

"And now it is time for these individuals to finally receive the accolades they're due. Please give a special round of applause for Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Jr. and Special Agent Timothy McGee."

The now blushing agents climbed onto the stage. Gibbs greeted them individually, the very picture of a Director making nice with his employees. But Davenport could see the stiffness that belied that they were unused to such formality.

"Both of these agents displayed exemplary character and impeccable professionalism in the face of extreme bias." He turned to address his agents directly. "It is the honor of this agency to award each of you with the Civilian Medal of Achievement."

This time, thunderous applause greeted his words, and in the hubbub that followed, he pinned the medals in question to their lapels. He leaned in close to each of them, and gave them words that were lost in the commotion. Davenport watched, vaguely curious as to what sentiments he was offering. But each of them nodded, both with twin grins of pride.

The applause died down as Gibbs returned to the podium. They were all aware that they were honoring three agents today—and now it was time for the guest of honor.

"Some people believe that a true American can only be born here in the United States," the director continued. "As a Marine, I learned that wasn't true. Countless men and women in this country love this nation more dearly than their own, because of what it stands for. The last agent we're here to recognize today is not only one of those individuals—she is the very embodiment of the qualities that sets America apart from the rest of the world. She is steadfast, headstrong, and relentless in the pursuit of justice.

"Agent David is a naturalized citizen who came to this country looking for a new life. In doing so she offered her skills and keen mind to NCIS. The agency accepted, with some trepidation, and I am glad to say that it has proven to be the best decision this agency has ever made."

Gibbs paused once again, and for a long moment the only sound was the distant rush of traffic and the snap of the odd camera going off.

"And that is why it is my honor to bestow the Presidential Medal of Freedom—the highest honor any civilian can earn—to Special Agent Ziva David."

He barely had time to draw his speech to a close before the roar of applause drowned him out, thunderous despite the open-air locale. The frenzy of reporters murmuring and cameras clicking from every direction persisted for several long moments, as Gibbs looked expectantly to the edge of the stage.

But when no agent appeared, the clapping faltered, and slowly faded.

"Special Agent Ziva David," Gibbs iterated again, and the applause began once more only to fall flat a few moments later when nobody appeared.

Davenport watched as Gibbs stared, seeming almost dumbstruck in his schooled expression. But when he turned to his lead agent, his movement was steady and sure, as though he knew exactly what was going down.

Even so, the man looked hesitant, but finally shrugged discreetly. To Davenport's surprise, Gibbs took the woman's absence in stride. Better than, if the conceding smirk that crossed his features meant anything.

In the end, Gibbs turned back to the podium without pretense or overture. "Due to an unexpected illness, Special Agent David has been forced to refrain from attending. Accepting the award in her stead is her partner, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

With an ease that could only come with practice, the younger man stepped forward, and Gibbs handed over the boxed medal. DiNozzo accepted it graciously, and shook Gibbs' hand with a broad grin, one that was mirrored in the Interim Director's eyes; there was a joke somewhere in there, Davenport was sure of it.

But then the agent was falling back in line with his colleague, and the rest of the ceremony concluded without a hitch. The crowd dispersed, and the agents melted into the reception, both to receive congratulations and gratitude, and to make their way to the exit. The Secretary didn't need to follow them to know that they were discreetly going off to locate their missing teammate.

Gibbs was forced to stay longer than the rest of his team, but he still bowed out unprofessionally early to disappear in the same direction of his agents.

But instead of dragging him back, the Secretary merely moved to ease the miffed and ruffled feathers of the bigwigs in attendance. If nothing else, after everything Gibbs had done for the agency in the past… how many years?... he'd earned the right to go after his team. In fact, the Secretary almost envied the man, for the bond he shared for his agents.

But at the same time…

The sooner he started looking for a more permanent Director, the better.

* * *

><p>Gibbs met the others outside the elevator, where they'd paused to wait for him to catch up with them. A simple nod later, they were all taking the elevator up to the bullpen. At first glance, it seemed empty, but when they rounded the corner to their section of the room, they weren't all that surprised to see Ziva sitting relaxed in Gibbs'—now Tony's—chair. Upon spotting them in return, she stood, her expression slightly apologetic.<p>

"Hey," Abby said first, crossing to her friend's side. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she reassured them. "I just—" Her voice trailed off, and for a long moment didn't continue. But Abby's attention remained determinedly fixed,refusing to let the woman brush off her concern.

"I didn't do it for a medal, Abby," she finished finally, but her eyes drifted to Gibbs, making it clear who she was trying to explain herself to.

Gibbs shrugged. "Don't look at me."

There was a smile in his voice that broke the tension easily, and Ziva visibly relaxed at the sound of it. It was no secret that Gibbs himself had shirked his own fair share of awards ceremonies, and apparently had no misgivings at having Ziva perpetuate the cycle.

"Well, it is the _Presidential Medal of Freedom_," Tony said, tucking his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "It's only the…" Ziva met his gaze, and he abruptly changed track— "…the highest honor a civilian can earn, but clearly not important," he finished quickly.

"What he's trying to say, Ziva," McGee translated, "is that while it may not mean much to you and Gibbs, it is a big deal. It'll go a long way towards helping your career along…" His voice trailed off when he saw her eyes darken. "Oh, boy."

Silence "With me," Gibbs said, his tone short but not angry. Obediently, she followed him around the side of the cubicle, until they were out of sight behind the large plasma. He regarded her for a long moment, before finally speaking. "You're not coming back."

Her lips pressed together, and she shook her head. "No," she delivered softly. "No, I'm not."

"Why?" he asked. "You have your place here. We're here. We're your family."

She nodded. "I know that. I do, it's just…" A flash of pain sparked in her eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. "I don't belong here. Not now."

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but she put up a hand to silence him.

"Not _right_ now," she elaborated. "I…" She took a deep breath, pulling her thoughts together. "I need to heal, Gibbs."

Her eyes begged him to understand. And he did. He'd seen the darkness in her eyes, the chill in her soul when she'd executed Barrett. She was not the same person she'd been at NCIS, and he knew it. That same agent they'd all known was still there, locked away deep within her. But it would take time for her to find herself again, if at all.

Giving her time was the one thing he could do to help her.

"All right," he said finally. Her features lifted, some of the heavy worry disappearing in the blink of an eye. "I'll authorize a leave of absence—as long as you need."

She offered a grateful smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. They remained silent for a long moment; he content, she unsure.

Finally, Gibbs reached out and gripped the side of her neck gently, his thumb resting lightly on the edge of her jaw. He looked her in the eye, his gaze warm, but firm. "If you need anything…"

"Haven't you heard, Gibbs?" she returned, her voice as light as she could make it. "My father is dead. Apparently he named me heir to his entire estate… including his Cayman accounts."

Gibbs grinned. She smiled again, and this time her eyes brightened. With a small tug, he drew her closer, and she came willingly, wrapping her arms around his waist as his arms encircled her shoulders. She pressed her face into his chest, as though using him to blot out the rest of the world for just a moment. Kelly had done it, once upon a time, when a nightmare had sent her scurrying into his and Shannon's bedroom.

A mumble vibrated against his chest, the words unintelligible though he understood them perfectly.

_I'm sorry._

It wasn't for him. He knew that. She was well aware of his disdain for apologies, and she knew he didn't need one from her. She said it because she needed to, to prove to herself that she could still feel remorse. To remind herself she was still human.

He squeezed her tighter, offering the silent reassurance she needed.

After a while, she moved to pull away, and Gibbs let her go. She wiped her eyes discreetly, and he waited until she was ready before he nodded, and led them back to where the rest of the team stood waiting.

Abby's eyes filled with tears when she saw Ziva's expression. "You're leaving, aren't you?" she whispered mournfully.

Ziva nodded. "Yes, Abby."

Silence fell, as the team processed the news. Gibbs could see that her departure had not been unforeseen, but it didn't make the reality any easier to stomach. He knew that they'd never stopped considering Ziva as part of the team, and they'd never stopped waiting for her to come home.

And here she was, home at last—leaving again, this time of her own volition.

"Where will you go?" McGee asked finally, the first to break through his own disappointment.

Brown eyes glanced at Gibbs, a twinkle lurking in their depths. "I hear Mexico's nice."

Gibbs bit back a smile. Of all the places she could run to, she'd chosen a place familiar yet distant. It was a silent promise that she wasn't disappearing from their lives once again. Gibbs knew exactly where she was going to be, and he knew how to contact her. And he knew for a fact that another NCIS agent was still retired on that same stretch of quiet beach. Franks would help her along, whether either of them would realize it or not.

Abby sniffled loudly, unable to contain the tears brimming over and spilling down her cheeks. She hobbled forward on her uncharacteristically delicate pumps and flung her arms around Ziva, yanking her into a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Suddenly she pulled away to grip Ziva's face with both hands.

"But you don't have to miss us," she declared fiercely, "because we all have a lot of vacation time saved up, and we're definitely going to take it to come visit you. We can even take our vacation at different times, so you don't have to be alone as long. I mean, as long as you want to have visitors. I know some people go on sabbatical to get _away_ from people, so I'd totally understand if—"

"Abby," Ziva interrupted, grasping the scientist's wrists firmly.

The Goth quieted immediately, her damp eyes wide.

"I would be hurt if you _didn't_ come to visit," Ziva assured her. She glanced at the others. "All of you."

They both gave her tense smiles, until Tony rolled his shoulders with a dramatic sigh. "Oh well, since you asked so nicely…"

Ziva barked out a laugh, and just like that, the somber mood was broken. McGee and DiNozzo joined in on Abby's hug, the three of them nearly smothering Ziva between them. Gibbs let them have their moment, until Abby glared at him over McGee's hand on Ziva's shoulder. With a brief, but good-natured, roll of his eyes, Gibbs stepped into the group hug as well.

It lasted only a few more moments, before Ziva voiced her need to breathe, and they all drew back. Abby waited only a few heartbeats to let Ziva catch her second wind before grabbing her hand tightly.

"When are you leaving?" she demanded fiercely. "You're always, like, ten steps ahead of everyone, so you probably have your trip all planned out, which means you have your flight all set… But do you have time for one last team lunch before you go?"

Ziva's features creased into an easy smile. "Of course," she returned gladly. She turned to the new interim Director. "Gibbs? Will you join us?"

Gibbs arched a brow, as if weighing the option, though he knew his answer the moment she asked. "My treat," he told them. Then, he dangled his keys. "And I'm driving."


End file.
